


The one with the bet

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Series: All's Fair [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Bets & Wagers, Bottom Dorian, Coming Untouched, Consent, Emotions, Genital Piercing, M/M, POV Iron Bull, Plaidweave is a mistake, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when, for the greater good, one might choose to lose a bet. This is one of those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one with the bet

If Bull's going to be honest--and he is, since it's not like anyone's paying him to be anything else these days--he's gotta admit: maybe there is something to this weird concept that repeatedly having sex with someone brings about some sort of connection. It's not that he wouldn't have said that it brought about a connection before, but he probably (if anyone asked) would've said it's like the same kind of connection he has with the Chargers. If you experience enough endorphins in anyone's presence, your brain starts making positive connections--it's basic as basic can be. 

But he wouldn't have thought that this depth of feeling was possible for him in such a short amount of time. He wouldn't have thought that having Dorian spread out on his bed was something that he'd need, rather than want. 

It's so... not-Qun, the need prickling his skin even when he's balls deep. Just seeing Dorian like this: naked, on his back, legs drawn up to his chest, cheeks flushed with color and his eyes so concentrated. "You're going to kill me," Dorian says--grinds out, really, like it's physically painful to admit.

"You're far too young for that," Bull says, dismissive, and he knows he sounds more distant than he truly is, but he can't help that shit. For an apology, he digs the fingers of his left hand into Dorian's thigh, which produces Dorian's typical response: his eyes roll back and he groans, eyelids fluttering shut while Bull takes a fierce sort of pleasure in the way Dorian's shoulders go loose and his head flops back against the pillows. 

No, there's nothing easy about riding the Bull. But Dorian's good at it, by now, and there's something intensely satisfying in watching him pant, watching his cock jump with each piercing in Bull's frenum ladder sliding in and out, and in slapping Dorian's hand away from his cock when he finally manages to begin a steady, if slow, pace.

Bull has a theory, and he wants to see if it bears fruit. Dorian laughs, breathless. "Will you deny me my--climax?" 

"Of course not," Bull murmurs, and lets go of Dorian's thigh, reaches down to cup Dorian's balls and squeeze gently. The way Dorian's legs kick, the way he tightens around Bull and his cock jumps and a string of precome now decorates the dark curls of his pubic hair--it all makes Bull's sack tighten in sympathy, in need, and he checks himself to keep from speeding up the pace of his thrusts. 

"You're--" Dorian cuts off into a low moan and the hands that would normally be around his cock scramble for anything--his own ankle, Bull's wrist, the blankets, his own hair, and finally: his own nipple, squeezing, merciless, until he's shuddering beneath Bull and it's everything Bull can do to keep himself steady. "Maker. You truly are--cruel." 

Bull hums; Dorian's not wrong. "Want to make a bet of it?" 

Dorian's laugh says yes, and also no. But the sigh and the word he breathes is "Yes," and beautiful besides. 

"If it ends up too much," Bull murmurs, hips working slow and steady, "you know the word." It's not that Dorian forgets, but simply that the reminder makes him more comfortable using it, Bull's found. 

The nod that Dorian gives is slow, and is the kind of consent that warms Bull's heart: freely given without reservation. Good, he thinks, even as he watches Dorian's hands become less frantic, watches as Dorian gets used to the fucking and starts--fuck.

He starts to perform, the likes of which he hasn't done for weeks and weeks. They'd got past this, Dorian's incessant need to hold himself just the right way, and it's not. It's not that Bull dislikes it. It's that he prefers the genuine honesty of Dorian's reactions to more extreme stimuli; he prefers that moment when Dorian can't hold it together anymore. 

Bull laughs, low and easy, and shifts back a little, pulling Dorian with him, so Dorian's ass is in the air a little better, so he's less centered, and it's delightful to feel him tense, to watch him try and shift so he can be fuckin' pretty and not find a way that it works. "What are the--ah!" Dorian gasps, tense for a moment as Bull his an entirely different angle--the right one, to get Dorian to come without touching himself. It's evident in the shakiness in his voice when he continues: "What are the terms of this--wager?" 

"I make you come without you touching your cock," Bull says, pausing with only the tip of his cock inside, not even the top piercing on his ladder. Dorian tenses, but it's the shaking sort of tenseness that precedes him going loose and easy. "If I can--next time, _you_ fuck _me_." 

"Mmmm," Dorian hums. He's never been a natural top, despite how much Bull enjoys a good, hard fuck. "And if I can't? Or if you come first?" 

Biological impossibility, just about, but Bull looks over his shoulder at their clothes, strewn about. "I'll let you burn the plaidweave tent pants." 

Dorian laughs, or starts to, but Bull starts to slide in him again, and the laughter cuts off into a satisfied groan, which progresses to an almost strangled noise as each of the six piercings disappears inside of Dorian along with Bull's cock. It's one of the most satisfying strings of noises that Dorian's ever made. 

"Is that acceptable?" Bull asks, grinning down at Dorian. 

"Fuck," Dorian says, and shudders. "Yes. Yessss. Those pants are history." He blinks his eyes, and there are tears on his lashes, but nowhere else. "Okay. Fuck me, Iron Bull." 

The combination of the look and the words go directly to Bull's cock, like there's a direct line, and there probably fucking is at this point, but Bull's not going to think about it. He's just going to let his hips stutter the way they want to for a moment, and treasure the pleased moan Dorian gives. 

"Going to make you come," Bull growls, because he's not the only one who knows about direct lines of pleasure. Dorian, predictably, gives a full-body shudder and the tightness around Bull's cock goes loose just the way Dorian always does.

Bull takes that as his signal that Dorian's ready, and begins to fuck him in truth. Slow enough that Dorian can feel each piercing, but fast enough that it won't drive him mad. It's a pace that Bull knows he can keep up for half an hour or more, if only because he's done it before. 

The thing that he doesn't bank on is Dorian. "Fuck," and "yes" and "Maker" and all similar words are a pretty much constant stream with Dorian any time they fuck. He's used to talking, likes the sound of his own voice, and--in his own words, _doesn't have enough good, honest shame to care about being quiet_. 

But this is something else entirely. This is Dorian focused, Dorian gripping Bull's wrists and looking him in the eye and just. Talking. "Do you know how much I thought about this before we fucked?"

Bull shakes his head, because he doesn't. "More than I did, likely." 

Dorian's groan is satisfied, and maybe half of a laugh follows. " _Yes_. It was my sole masturbation fantasy from the moment we met. You don't even know--every time I saw you right, it was everything I could do to not end up with four fingers up my own arse, pretending that it was your cock and the winter blankets were--ah, yes, that's good--you and not my own imagination." 

"Mmm?" The flush creeping into Bull's cheeks isn't unwelcome, or unusual, but he should honestly--should. Something. He concentrates on Dorian, though, on the now-steady leak of precome from his cock, and every so often giving a thrust that makes his cock smear it around.

"And then it was--" Dorian cuts off for a moment, shuddering all over as Bull hits a particularly good place a few thrusts in a row, and his eyes roll back and even his grip on Bull's wrists loosens for a minute. Bull shifts his grip on Dorian's ass, pulls his hips up higher, until Dorian's balanced between his shoulders and head on the bed and Bull fucking him firm and steady. " _Maker_ you really are going to--succeed--ah, ah--" 

But something changes, the way it does with sex, and the angle's not as good anymore, and Bull pulls up Dorian's torso, digs his fingers into Dorian's shoulder and tries not to enjoy too much the feeling of Dorian's hands on his shoulders, the back of his head, the base of his horns. 

They're quiet but for the slap of flesh and the sounds of pleasure for long, long minutes, and when Dorian speaks again, it's a breathy whisper into Bull's ear. "I've never seen you such a mindless _beast_ ," he growls, and the tone says that it's pleasing to him, that it's maybe a thing he wanted, when it was him beneath the covers and his fingers not anywhere close to satisfying. 

That it is what Bull loves is--a reason why they work, and Bull finds that he cannot stop his hips from jerking unsteadily, cannot stop himself from speeding up just a little. 

"Fuck," Dorian groans, low and needy and somehow possessive as his fingernails scrape Bull's skull, as he shudders in Bull's arms. "Fuck, fuck. I need. You. This. Bull. _Please_ , faster." 

Somewhere around _need you_ , Bull decides that he doesn't care about winning the wager. He doesn't care if he has to burn the plaidweave pants, and he doesn't care if Dorian won't fuck him _next time_ because it feels too fucking good to give a shit. "Beg," he orders, softly, looking down into Dorian's dark, dark eyes. 

"Please," Dorian says, mouth open as he pants, lips wet and swollen, and when was he even biting them? Not that it matters. "Please, Bull. Faster." 

"The other thing," Bull says, grunting the words, low and barely intelligible even to himself. He's starting to come apart, lose any sense of objectivity he might've had as he drives himself harder, faster, and knows that Dorian can take it, that Dorian will not, under these circumstances, break.

"I need," Dorian says, and moans, suddenly high-pitched and his hands scrambling, digging into Bull's neck now. "Fuck, fuck, need you, Bull, fuck," he laughs, short and sharp and not too far off from his earlier groans "Yes, I can feel--feel--" 

When Bull comes, he buries his face against Dorian's neck, he sucks that tender skin into his mouth and bites and holds himself there for long, long, moments. Dorian's already reaching down, and he barely even has his hand around his cock before he's coming, painfully tight and with a noise broken enough to prove just how evenly matched they are: despite Dorian's bravado--and he knows it for what it is, now--Bull nearly won.

He can't help laughing, and Dorian just slumps against Bull and makes pleased, exhausted sounds. "Worth it," he mumbles, shortly before Bull lays him down on the bed for their customary post-coital nap. 

Bull agrees.


End file.
